


Idle Hands are the Devil's Playthings

by Weisse_Rose



Series: Horny Sherlock Compilation (stand-alone first time stories) [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Dialogue is for Cheesecakes, Drunk John, First Kiss, Hand Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, Masturbation Interruptus, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-28
Updated: 2014-03-28
Packaged: 2018-01-17 08:41:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1381165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Weisse_Rose/pseuds/Weisse_Rose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A very drunk John forgets that he does not live in Baker Street anymore and interrupts Sherlock during a rather private activity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Idle Hands are the Devil's Playthings

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place after John moves to the suburbs with Mary but before the events in _His Last Vow_. It is based on the assumption that John never gave back the key to 221B.

John made a seventh attempt to get the key into the lock and reflected that he hadn’t been this pissed in a very long time. He wasn’t entirely sure how it had happened either. One minute, he was having a nice evening out, the next he was hammered. John took a close look at the key and narrowed his eyes. He was convinced that this was somehow the key’s fault. The blasted thing had somehow changed shape. With a frown, he took one of the other keys on the chain in the hope that it would be more willing to help him out. Indeed, after four more unsuccessful attempts he managed to open the door and went inside with a shout of triumph.

He stumbled up the stairs, leaning heavily on the railing. When he entered the flat, he looked around uncertainly for a moment. Something was wrong with this picture. He tried to pin it down, but everything seemed to be exactly the way it should be. John glanced at the violin lying on the living room table and frowned again. Why did he have this nagging feeling that he was in the wrong place? This was where he was supposed to be.

John stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Sherlock lying on the couch. Sherlock’s eyes were closed and his face had the serene look that usually indicated that he was far away, wandering the halls of his mind palace. But something was different from his usual demeanor. John realized that Sherlock’s breathing was quite fast and he didn’t have his hands folded in his typical thinking pose. John looked down from his face over his body and saw- Ah. Well. That answers several questions, John thought dryly. Firstly, whether or not Sherlock engages in this type of activity at all. Secondly, he had always suspected that if he himself had the mental discipline to create a mind palace, the basement would probably be filled with pornographic material. At this moment, it seemed a likely conclusion that Sherlock’s palace had a basement as well.

John realized with a start that he had been staring at his masturbating best friend for several minutes and stumbled backwards. In his haste, he crashed into one of the armchairs and threw it over. John himself landed on the floor with a heavy thud. He scrambled to his feet again as quickly as his current state would allow. He glanced over at Sherlock and saw to his horror that he had opened his eyes and was staring straight at him. Sherlock’s eyes widened and the look of horror on his face was a mirror to John’s. His hand had stilled completely and he seemed unable to avert his eyes from John. Well, John thought on a level that seemed to be disconnected from current events, you always did wonder what he would look like speechless. 

John took in the sight before him. Under the look of horror, there was something else entirely. Sherlock’s pupils were blown, in the dim light, they looked completely black. His hair was slightly disheveled and he looked utterly debauched. Unbidden, words formed in John’s mind and threatened to come out. Brilliant. Amazing. Beautiful. Gorgeous. He was vaguely aware that these were not appropriate thoughts to have when walking in on one’s best man masturbating. In his alcohol-addled brain, John had a brilliant idea on how to keep the words from spilling out. He closed the distance between them quickly and leaned down to kiss Sherlock. 

Sherlock remained frozen in place, reminding John of a deer caught in the headlights of on oncoming car. Just when John decided that maybe this was not such a great idea after all and started to slowly pull back, Sherlock recovered from his shock. He opened his mouth and kissed John back with surprising force. John got lost in the sensation for a moment. By this point he had sobered up quite considerably and started to wonder how he had gotten in the current situation. He felt a twinge of doubt through the lifting haze which enveloped his mind. John opened his eyes and suddenly realized that Sherlock had started to, for all intents and purposes, fuck John’s mouth with his tongue and was timing his strokes in the same rhythm. John involuntarily moaned and knelt down completely when his knees went weak.

John’s hands were placed on the couch, not touching Sherlock. They were only touching at the lips, but John felt it all the same when Sherlock’s breathing became more irregular and his whole body tensed. Well, in for a penny, in for a pound, the strangely detached part of John’s brain thought and he almost giggled. He removed his left hand from the couch and wrapped it over Sherlock’s. He could feel Sherlock’s surprised moan at the action as much as he heard it. It only took a couple of more strokes of their combined hands and Sherlock was coming all over his dress shirt. John dropped to a sitting position on the floor with a loud thud and wondered why Sherlock had not taken it off in the first place. He realized that Sherlock was wearing dress pants and shoes. It seemed a rather inappropriate getup to be masturbating in. John felt another giggle coming on and suppressed it. He felt light-headed and strange, not plastered anymore, but far from sober. He slowly lifted his left hand and looked at it dumbfoundedly. His thoughts still seemed distant and unrelated to himself when he contemplated the telling imagery of his best friend’s come on his hand next to his wedding ring. Suddenly, his distant aloofness vaporized and he felt a sense of panic rise up. He hastily got to his feet and almost fell again. He all but ran over to the kitchen sink and quickly washed his hands. 

John was almost out the door in his blind panic when something made him turn around and look back. His gaze locked with the detective’s. Sherlock’s expression was an almost unreadable mix of emotions. John thought he looked sad and resigned, but there was also a small glimmer of hope in his eyes that almost broke John’s heart. He had never seen Sherlock so vulnerable. He looked disheveled and exhausted and yet John thought that he had never seen anything so breathtakingly beautiful in his life. Words started piling up again in his mind. Rather than let them spill out, he fled down the stairs and out the door, trying to bring as much distance between himself and Baker Street 221B as he could.

**Author's Note:**

> Aaand that’s how John stopped wearing his wedding ring and Sherlock ended up in a crack den.


End file.
